The midland journal., September 04, 1885, Page 6, Image 6

About The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947

Image provided by: University of Maryland, College Park, MD

                
6
▲ KAIN'T DAT.
On adjr like this, when the streets are wet,
When the skies are gray and the rain la tailin’;
Jtoiv ca* you hinder an old reret
tor a Joy 10113 dead, and a hope 10113 set,
From rising out of its grave and calling?
Cal sag to von witli a voice so shrill,
Tlmt it scares the reason and stuns tho will.
On a day like this, when the sun Is hid,
And you and your heart are housed together;
If memories come to you all unhid.
And something suddenly wets your lid,
Like a gust oft he outdoor weather.
Why, who is in fault nut the dim old day,
Too dark for tabor, too dull for play.
On a day like this, that is blurred and gray,
Vrhcn tiie rain drips down in a ceaseless fash
ion;
If a dream that you banished and put away
Comes back to stare in your face and say
Mato eloquent words of passion—
If the whole vast universw seems amiss—
Yt r hy, who can help it—a day like this?
a mondayJomancl
Site, tlsat is, Miss Laura, liail a citj
lover. Site captureil him, or he had cap
tured her, or they had mu ually cap
tured each other while sho was on a
visit to her step-mother's sister-in-law.
Miss Laura's homo was in tho country
—not on a farm, where, presumably, the
good things abound—milk and butter,
cream and cottage cheese; eggs and
chickens; or at least pork, with per
haps, string beans, or cabbage. She
lived in a small village, through which
the express train rushed without a nod
of recognition, without a glance, and
whore the “accommodation” paused
barely long enough for a “howdy.”
This village had uo green grocery store,
and only two freslnneat days in tha
week. It had no ice, lienee no ice-cream,
lit) lemonade.
Miss Laura’s father lived by his wit 3.
Of course, then, he made no garden.
Miss Laura earned precarious pin
money by making an occasional dress,
by trimming an occasional bonnet, by
crocheting an occasional decorative
piece, by giving an occasional music les
son at fifteen cents the lesson. Of
course, then, she did not raise chickens
or make butter. Neither did she any
l:itclieu-work, nor house drudgery.
Her time was reckoned too precious for
such use, since even when her hands
were not engaged, she had her “think
ing ” to do, plans to lay for the capture
of a music pupil, or for securing an
order for a tidy. Her ears had to be
kept in a receptive condition to catch
f lie flying words about the villagers’
buyings. Whenever a dress pattern
was among these, she felt it her duty to
throw out a mantua-maker's bait.
Another part of Miss Laura’s duty
was to do the buying for the house. As
to who did the paying, this writer could
rot speak with definiteness. It is often
impossible for a w.iter to learn all about
a case.
Sophronia, a sister aged fourteen and
three-quarters, presided over the drud
gery. She knew how to boil potatoes
cud to stir mush; and slis thought she
I new how to make coffee and griddle
cakes.
One certain Monday, tho president of
the drudgery was wrestling with the fam
ily washing; and all through the wash
boarding, the boiling, the rinsing, tho
wringing, the blueing, the starching,
there was running a little vein of envy
—envy of the elder sister—removed
from tlie slop and steam, in tire cool
middle room, fitting a yellow calico
dress to “Sissy” Fisliback.
As she was wringing the las': of tho
boiled clothes, Sophronia was entertain
ing vague wishes in connection with Mr.
J. C. Gumms, He was the city lover
about whom Miss Laura had made some
blushing confessions. Sophronia was
wishing that he would “come along,”
and do “something or other.” There
was a knock at the front door. She
heard it above the creak of the wringer
and ill) splash and drip of the rinse
water. She paused, listening, with one
hand on tho wringer-handle and the
other holding Miss Laura’s stocking to
tlie rubber lips. There was a hurried,
l ushing noise in the middle room ; the
kitchen door was opened with precipita
tion, and in ran Miss Laura.
“ It's Mr. Gumms at the front door! ”
she exclaimed, nervously working at tho
curl papers which kept up her banged
hair. “You must go to the door,
Throne.”
‘ * Why, I can’t go. Sec what a fright
I am,” said Sophronia.
Her s'eeves were rolled to the shoul
der, her skirts were half-way to the
knee; her bare feet were well splashed
with the blueing-water and dabbed
-with starch.
“No matter about your looks,” Baid
Miss Laura, breathing fast; he'll take
you to be the hired girl. Please go
Pliroue,” she added with earnest plead
ing. “There he’a knocking again,” shrf
wout on in a panicky way twitching and
pulling at the curl papers, "ho go
along, Pliroue! I'd do as much for you;
and I will do a great deal more when I
am able to, as I probably shall be at an
early day. I can’t possibly go till I get
my bangs arranged and my dress
changed. Go along. Please do, Phrony,
and make haste or lie’ll go away. You
can act like a hired girl, and speak in
correctly ; call me Miss Laury, and lie’ll
never know the difference.”
“Until lie's my brotlicr-in-law, and
then ho will prosecute 1110 for getting a
brother-in-law under false pretences.”
Sophronia was beginning to make
j-eady, by “sudsing ” off her arms. Then
she went iorward to tho I rout, door, feel
ing awkward enough for tho role of ser
vant girl.
“Sissy” was dismissed by the back
way ; she might havo been sent to tho
door, if tho idea had occurred to Miss
Laura's bewildered brain. Mr. J. C.
Gunim’s card was soon brought to tho
destined trembling hand. And, at
length, the bangs and the dress being
arranged, Miss Laura went to tho
happy meeting.
Do not imagine that you are to ho
told what transpired at the happy meet
ing. Doubtless Sophronia could havo
told somewhat, since she mndo prolonged
keyhole observations before returning to
the washing. It is about tho interrup
tion of the happy meeting that you are
to hear. This occurred about twelve
minutes before twelve, when the impro
vised servant maid put a head in at the
parlor door, and intimated with an Irish
brogue which was not above suspicion,
that “ a word was wanted with the mis
tress. ”
The red of Miss Laura’s face was
deeper than rose, as she went forth to
the interview with Mr. Guinm’s whis
pered entreaty that her absence might be
made short.
“What is to be done about dinner?”
said Sophronia, her face in a pucker.
“Why, it is'utdinner-time,” said Miss
Laura in a tone of injured surprise and
remonstrance.
“It’s nearly twelve,” said Sophronia.
“Why you must be mistaken, it can’t
be much after ten,” Laura expostulated.
“Time runs like a mill to folks that
are courting,” said Sophronia ; “but it's
a very little way from noon, and you’ve
got to say what’s to be done about din
ner. ’’
“Oh. dear! nobody has a particle of
sympathy with me,” Miss Laura com
plained.
“My sakes! you talk as if I had been
putting the sun forward, and had been
straightening the shadows all over the
place. It’ noon and I’ve got to know
what’s to be done about dinner,” Sophro
nia persisted, giving her sleeve an ad
ditional roll-up.
Miss Laura was pestered to the tear
poiut.
“Can’t you put off dinner?” she said,
with unusual meekness. “Have it
about two o’clock. I’m not a particle
hungry.”
“But I am,” said Sophronia stoutly,
discerning that for once she had the
vantage-ground usually held by tho
elder sister. “I’ve been at the vv V
tub all morning and haven’t had
to feed on, so I’m ferociously . ’
•‘Well, you cau just take‘a
said Miss Laura in soothing ten . :.l
preparing lor a return to Mr. ( -
“But,” said Sophronia, with del
insistence of tone and manner, “f- : . ;
not a bite iu the house for ‘a piew !
beside, pa’s in the back yard coin:, r
his dinner.”
“Well you can make some ci• 1
have some griddle-cakes; they ;. 0
quickly got. ”
Miss Laura turned to go.
“Coffee and griddle-cakcs ! ” cried
Sophronia ; there’s not a grain of coffee
in the house, and there is no mv or
eggs for griddle-cakes; and i.. ,
there’s no lard to fry them.’
“ Then fry some potatoes,” said Miss
Laura.
“Fry potatoes without lard!” cried
Sophronia. “Beside, there isn’t a
potato 011 the place. ”
“Well, what is there?” demanded
Miss Laura with tears in her eyes.
“Nothing but a quart of corn meal.”
“ Then make some mush, ” and Miss
Laura turned suddenly sordne as if earth
had no more sorrow, and glided away to
the spot of her felicity.
The next interruption was one minute
beforo twelve, when again Sophronia’s
head appeared at tho parlor door, aud
again an interview was solicited in
Irisliy-Englisk.
“What is it now?” demanded Miss
Laura when she had shut Mr. Gumms
in the parlor and herself in the kitchen.
Her face was very, very red, and sho
fanned it vci-y fast, and looked vexed.
Til K iUWLAND JOOaKAL.
*• I want to know if your fellow is com
ing out to dinner, so as to know whether
or not I shall put on the deealcomania
things.”
"Of eaurse he isn’t coming out to din
ner. Ik> you suppose that I could ask
likn out here to eat mush ? ”
“Well,” Soplironia said, with a touch
of vehement scorn, “I think it will be
sneaking mean to cat dinner whilo he is
in the house and not ask him out
What do you suppose he'll think of such
a performance ? He’d never marry you
in the world."
"lie needn’t know there's eating go
ing on. He’ll think we dine at four or
live or six, like city folks. I can hint
to him that we do.”
" But he’ll hear the dishes rattle,” said
Soplironia.
"No, you can set the table in the
kitchen and keep all the doors shut”
"Well,” said Soplironia, snapping,
“pa ll scold at a good rate about eating
there in the middle of tubs and wringer
aud wasli-boiler and the heat, and about
having only mush. I shall put all the
blame on to you, I wish you to under
stand. It’s your business to order and
provide things.”
“But how could I, in such peculiar
circumstances,” said Miss Laura, hum
bly.
“If Mr. Gumms wasn’t a gump,”
Soplironia said, “he wouldn’t have
ccme out here on Monday. He might
have known that we’d eaten up every
thing o’ Sunday.”
“But you know,” Miss Laura apolo
gized, “he’s always been a baciieior,
poor fellow! He’ll soon loam better.
Pacify pa as well as you can, Plirony,
dear ; put the blame on me if it is neces
sary to defend yourself. I shall not bo
hero long to bear fault finding. Now,
please, Plirony, dear, don’t call me out
any more, and please, please don’t rat
tle tho dishes, and just hint to pa the
situation ; tell him that probably my
fortune is hanging in the balance, and
ask him to eat quietly. ”
“All right,” said Soplironia, cheer
fully, “I’ll do my best. Perhaps I may
persuade him to eat with his lingers,
and mush is a noiseless kind of food.”
Soplironia had a sense of the funny,
and beside, felt cheered at the prospeo
livo abdication of the family.
Miss Laura again departed to happi
ness. Soplironia began tiptoeing about
the kitchen. Why she did this is not
evident, since slie was still without
shoos. (Upon tho writer’s honor, tho
wit of the last remark was unintentional.)
The father came in soon. The situation
was explained to him. For some time
he had been reckoning on tho conveni
ence of having a son-in-law to get a loan
from when the wits slionld not produce
well. lie readily fell in with tho whisk
idea, and joined Soplironia in tiptoeing.
He had two hundred and thirteen pounds
to keep quiet; his feet had never been
submitted to Chinese treatment, and his
boots squeaked. WIIOII he whispered
that he’d help her set the table, So
phroni*. was alarmed.
“I’d rather, pa, that you'd sit down
and keep quiet; your boots are so
noisy,” she whispered.
“That’s a fortunate tiling,” lie whis
pered back; “their noiso will drown
tho raitle of the dishes.”
At this lie went on his toes tho length
j of the kitchen out to the cupboard,
j which was in the wood-slied; So
j plironia “whirled in” to clean tho
! table of the soap and starch and blueing,
of pans aud pails and dippers and
clothes poker. Then she spread the
cloth, then she went over to tho stove
aud stirred the musli. Then the pa
came squeaking, squeaking, squeaking, a
! glass tumbler in each band. Soplironia
j took them gently, and set them slowly,
j holding her breath.
“ I’ve got an id a, ” whispered the man
of wits, and away lie went toeing back
! to tho cupboard.
Soplironia laid the knives and forks
j and spoons, handling them as if they
were of spun glass. She heard the
clatter of dishes out at the cupboard,
aud began warbling to drown the noise.
Then she heard the returning squeak of
tho pa’s boots. She looked, raising a
warning linger. He was advancing on
tiptoe, carrying a tea tray loaded with
crockery and jingling glasses.
“No need,” he whispered at the
kitchen’s length, “making twenty trips
to the cupboard. I'll do all the fetching
in one.’ 1
“But,” whispered Soplironia, “we’ll
not need the half nor quarter of all
those; you’d better take them back to
the cupboard. ”
“No," ho whispered, still advancing
on his lioot-toes, “ I’ll set them on the
table, and you can pick out the ones
you want.’’
“But, pa,” whispered Soplironia,
“that’s the most troublesome way that
we could manage it; there’ll be such a
rattle in picking them out, in handling
over so many. ”
“ No,” he whispered, frowning, “that
is the best way.” If you can’t pick
what you want without a great clatter,
yon select which ones you want, and I’ll
lx; bound I can pick them out with no
more sound than if they were all cov
ered with velvet.”
“You can never do it,” slie whispered.
“I can,” he whispered, with no more
noise than if they were made of velvet.”
By this lie was at the upper end of
tho room within a foot of the door. As
ho whispered the word “velvet,” the
door was suddenly opened by Miss
Laura. She had come to say that slie
was getting hungry, and ask about dinner.
But she did not say the one, she did not
ask the other. The suddenly-opened
door struck the end of the loaded tray,
and the pa’s hand. His hold was lost
There was a rattling, shivering crash.
Miss Laura and Soplironia shrieked,
“Heavens!” the pa cried, “Thunder
and blazes!” The parlor-door was
burst open, and tlie ex-imprisoned Mr.
Gumms came running through tho
middle room into the kitchen, exclaim
ing—
“ Ladies and gentleman, what is the
matter ?"
“Oh, the musli is burning up!”
screamed Soplironia, discovering a
fresh calamity.
She dashed to tlie stove, and snatched
off the smoking kettle.
“Mr. Gumms, my father,” said Miss
Laura, with great mental presence.
At the introduction, the pa, who was
getting to his knees to save tlie pieces
of crockery for a prospective asparagus
bed, quickly recovered his perpendicular,
bringing up in his right hand tho frac
tion of a soup-disli. Ho bowed low to
Mr. Gumms, and dropping the fraction
shook hands with the guest, saying he
was extremely happy. Then with a
wave of his large, soft hand toward the
girl with the. mush-kettle, he said, —
“My daughter Soplironia, Mr.
Gumms.”
Mr. Gumms bowed, Soplironia snick
ered.
Miss Laura hastily took Mr. Gumms
by the arm, and hurried him from the
apartment of desolation.
Mr. Gumms was seen, soon nfter, at
the village tavern, eating fried ham and
soda biscuits. He has l>een seen b JM
none of those villagers since.
HOW GOLD KINGS AUK HADE.
Gold rings are made from bars nine or
fifteen inches long. A bar fifteen inches
long, about two inches wide and three
sixteenths of an inch thick, is worth
about §I,OOO. It would make 300 four
penny-weight rings. A dozen processes
and twenty minutes time are required to
change the bar into merchantable rings.
A pair of shears cat the liar into strips.
By the turn of a wheel, one, two or
three times, the guillotine blade of tlie
shears cuts the bar into slices, one, two
or tlirec-sixteenths of an inch wide. A j
rolling machine presses out tho strips i
aud makes them flat or grooved. Each j
strip is then put under a blowpipe and |
annealed. The oxide of copper comes
to the sni face, and is put into a pickle
of sulphuric acid, and the bit of gold is
stamped with its quality and the name
of the maker, and is put through a ma
chine that bends it into the shape of a i
ring of any size. The ends are soldered !
with an alloy of inferior fineness to the
quality of the ring. Many people im
agine that rings are run in a mold, be
cause they can’t see where they are
soldered. The ring spins through the
turning lathes, is rounded, pared and
polished, first with tripoii and then with
steel filings and rouge.
WASTE OF HUMAN LIFE IN AFRICA.
About 900 miles inland from Leopold
ville, Africa, Stanley says in liis book
that he found a band of slave-traders
having in their possession 2,300 captives.
“ Both banks of the river,” he says,
“showed that lIS villages and forty
three districts had been devastated, out
of which was educed 2,300 females and
children, aud about 2,000 tusks of ivory.
To obtain these they must have shot
2.500 people, while 1,300 more died by
the wayside. How many are wounded
and die in tlie forest, or droop to death
through an overwhelming sense of their
calamities, we do not know, but tlie
outcome from the territory, with its
million of souls, must bo 5,000 slaves,
obtained at the expense of 33.000 lives!”
The best way to discipline one’s heart
against soandal is to believe all stories
to be false which ought not io be true. 1
CBS GREATEST BAREBACK tOSiK
James Robinson was probably th
king of the trade. Joseph Wheelock,
the actor, who was the boon companion
of the rider once told me the incidents
in the career of his friend during a visit
he paid to England about fifteen years
ago. Robinson had been engaged at a
salary of $2,000 a week to ride ia
Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre in London.
For weeks before he arrived he was
heralded ns the greatest bareback eques
trian of the age. To amuse himself ho
took over with him a team of American
trotting horses and a light buggy, but
neglected to bring such horses as he
would need to ride. This oversight
rather astonished the English managers,
who thought their contract, of course,
included the furnishing of horses. Rob
inson made light of the matter, and said
he could break the animals to his liking
in the fortnight intervening between
his arrival and the date of his debut.
There was nothing left for the managers
to do than to swallow their disappoint
ment and provide him with horses.
These he rehearsed day after day at the
circus with skill and assiduity, but to
find at last that they were beasts far
inferior in intelligence to the Kentucky
thoroughbreds with which he was ao>
customed to deal.
The night of the first appearance of
the American champion arrived. Tho
great building bearing the historical
name of Astley was packed to suffoca
tion to see the performance of the reck
less rider from over the sea. Robinson
had, however, in tho short time allowed
been utterly unable to train the English
horses to his acts, and as a consequence
waa at a sad disadvantage in what he
attempted. The best features of his
acta, including tho vaulting, he failed
in. The audience hurried his exit from
the ring with hisses. A more dismal
fiasco could not have awaited an artist.
Tin Englishmen naturally took keen
delight in the failure of the American,
whom it was announced would eclipse
th best exploits in horsemanship as
illustrated by English and French
riders. The disgrace humiliated Rob
inson to the dust.
That very night lie went to the man
ager of the circus to release him from
his contract. ‘‘All I ask,” he said, “is
that I may be retained in the establish
ment on the salary of tho tumblers with
whom I will appear at each performance
unannounced. Then I want tho privi
lege of practicing in the morning.” The
manager, glad enough to be relieved
from tho heavy ccst of the bargain,
accepted the conditions. The next day
Robinson had disposed of his trotting
horses and vehicle, as well as other traps
and jewelry, until he had enough to
purchase six horses of the best blood
attainable, none of which had ever been
ridden in a ring. The selection of tho
animals bccupied somo time. When at
last the troupe was comp eted ho began
breaking :hem to his business, a task
j which required great patience and an
: absolute insight into tho nature of the
j beast.
Weeks passed. James Robinson, who
j had in tho meantime been the butt of
ridicule, was forgotten. Nightly he was
turning flip flops iu tlio sawdust with a
pack of mountebanks, some of whom
did not know that among their number
| was the best rider in the world. About
[ the time that the menials about tho
circus establishment began to whisper
that they guessed that “blarsted Yan
kee could ride a li'.tle bit after all,
Robinson called on the manager. “ I
wish,” he said, “ that you would bill me
to rc-nppcar next next Monday night I
would like to try to redeem my reputa
tion. If I don’t succeed, I’ll pack up
and go homo.”
With more than a misgiving the post
ers were pasted up over London’s dead
walls. Again, there was an unusual
throng to have their sneer at the pre
sumptions follow, whom everybody
thought had long before gone back.
But the dashing American made them,
laugh on the other side of their mouths.
Tho display of equestrianism which he
gave throw tho house into an ecstacy of
delight. The way he vaulted ou and
off the backs of tho flying steeds electri
fied the f igid hearts before him. Recall
after recall made him famous in Lon
don town. The newspapers rang with
his praise, and spoke of his previous
failure tvs a remarkable reminiscence.
The Astley peoplo were glad enough to
renew the original contract to retain tho
American rider, who returned home two
years later with a European reputation
aud fifty thousand dollars to boot.